A Date With Quinn
by Sacred Dust
Summary: A new kid at Lawndale High asks Quinn on a date. The result may not be what you expected. Quinn/OC.
1. What Did I Get Myself Into?

_A/N: There are a ton of different ways to write my favorite character. This time, I'm going for an outsider's perspective. ^^_

Ω

**A DATE WITH QUINN**

Part I: What Did I Get Myself Into?!

As Duane pulled up in front of the Morgendorffers' house, he tried to remember where the line between fantasy and reality had blurred.

He didn't go to Lawndale High School. He didn't even live in this bizarre and, shall we say, highly animated city; at least, he never used to. He had lived someplace else, someplace more…real. The details escaped him now. Maybe they had to, to keep him from going nuts or something.

These days Duane sat through boring classes and walked past Pizza King on his way home every day, as if he'd always done it. And the acute certainty that he had seen—no, _watched_ all of this before—faded into occasional déjà vu.

Yeah, maybe it was better this way. That was what brought him here tonight: an attempt to go with the flow, and a bold attempt at that.

He had asked out Quinn Morgendorffer.

It wasn't a grab for popularity; it just felt like the right thing to do. In the early days, when he didn't know what was happening and thought he might freak out any minute, he fixated on one thing: that she would stroll into History class and sit in front him every day. He would listen to her prattle on about fashion with her friends, watch her covertly taking notes so the bitchy one wouldn't notice, and everything would seem better. Normal, almost.

_Damn. She helped me so much, without even knowing it. I guess I owe her one dinner and a good time, right?_ He told himself that was the only reason. But in truth, maybe relief wasn't the only thing he felt when he saw her gliding through the halls.

Duane checked his blonde hair once more in the rearview mirror. He had agonized over whether to cut it, but decided the long hair was a part of him. Hopefully keeping it in a ponytail would suffice.

Another few minutes and he'd be late. He stepped out of the car. It was a silver PT Cruiser, not very stylish but credible. His parents (he could finally call them that, now) had let him borrow it along with the credit card. Not too shabby.

He walked up to the door and rang the bell. This was a big house, a mansion compared to his place. A huge bay window stared down at him from the second floor.

Finally a man with brown hair and a strong jaw opened the door. "Oh, hello! Are you here to help us with our squirrels? They're real menaces this time of the year. ALWAYS chittering at us from the trees. ALWAYS trying to get into our garbage!" he pointed to the trash can. Its lid was weighed down with three cinderblocks. "DAMN SQUIRRELS!"

"Um...no. I'm Duane Mason. Quinn's date?" he said in his slight southern accent.

"Oh yeah!" the man pumped his hand vigorously. "Jake Morgendorffer, my man. I'm Quinn's...uh...what was I saying?"

"Father?"

"Huh?"

"Quinn's FATHER?" Duane repeated. This guy seemed a few tacos short of a combo platter.

The man perked up. "Oh, hey, that's me! What can I do for you, pal?"

Duane resisted the urge to slap his forehead.

"JAKE, for God's sake," a woman's voice said with exasperation. The door opened wider to reveal a pretty, no-nonsense woman in a business suit. "Can't you even greet someone at the door properly? How are you, young man?"

"Great. I'm Quinn's-"

"Quinn's date, we know. What was your name again?"

"Du-"

"Oh yes, Duane! I'm her mother, Helen Morgendorffer. Won't you come in?" she smiled with more politeness than warmth.

"...Sure." _Damn, these folks are wound up tight. Wait, I already knew that. Didn't I? Oh, whatever..._

He walked in and immediately smelled something odd cooking on the stove. Possibly fried rice with a terribly inappropriate addition, perhaps guacamole. He was glad they hadn't asked him here for dinner.

"Quinn's still getting ready. She'll be down any minute!" Helen beamed. "So...er, tell us a little about yourself. What do you...like to do?" The last part was said a tad awkwardly, like she wasn't used to speaking with young people. Or maybe just not her daughter's dates.

"Well, I like to build stuff. I'm taking shop and sometimes I help my uncle. He's a carpenter. And I'm a wide receiver on the football team." These things had not always been true, but if he was stuck here for good he might as well accept them. Besides, he DID like carpentry and football.

"I wish I could've played football," muttered Jake. "But my old man said I was too WEAK for that game. Couldn't even let me try out, could you, you old-"

"JAKE, I think your rice is starting to burn." Helen cut him off.

"Damn it!" he rushed into the kitchen.

Helen turned to the couch, where a bored-looking girl in a green jacket and black skirt sat reading the paper. "This is our oldest daughter, Daria..." The girl in question looked up at Duane for a second, then continued reading. "Daria, this is Quinn's date for the evening."

"My condolences," she said sourly.

_"Daria..."_

Now this one looked _really_ familiar. He had seen her around school a few times, and she didn't help his fragile state of mind. She was all rough edges and sarcastic remarks. Cute behind the glasses and the attitude, but not his type.

Duane heard the blessed sound of feet on the stairs. He turned and there she was: slender, graceful, and dressed to kill in a purple tank top and black pants, with a purple necklace and bracelet and black leather sandals. There was no question about it, clothes adored this girl. He wasn't far behind.

Long red hair danced around her face as she bounced down the last few steps. His breath caught in his throat. _Remember your manners, perv._ "Good to see you, Quinn! Um, you look nice."

"Thanks!" she said blithely. "Sorry I'm late, Dave."

_Ouch. Mood killer._ "Um, it's Duane."

"Whatever. Look, remember when I said we were going to Chez Pierre?"

"Yeah..."

A scowl marred her perfect face. "Well we're not. I just found out Sandi and HER date are there tonight."

_Yikes, _he thought. _Crisis averted._ "So what did you have in mind?"

"I don't know, just think of something. See you Mom! Back by 1 unless we're out later. Byyyye!"

They swept out the door before her parents could say anything. Before they reached the Cruiser and she started talking about her day, Duane had a brief moment to wonder...

_What did I get myself into?_


	2. A Failure to Communicate

Part II: A Failure to Communicate...

Ω

It was odd, Duane thought. Even when Quinn got out of the house and away from her family, she didn't seem to relax much. She looked comfortable enough in his car, and if she had a problem with Cruisers she didn't bring it up. He didn't claim to understand the female mind, but there was definitely...well, something.

He didn't ask. At the moment she was busy talking about the terrible halter top Brooke (who?) was wearing, and how chartreuse was so OUT this spring, and how Val (as in, Val) was finally calling it quits with her magazine, and...

Duane lost track after that. It was kind of annoying that she didn't ask how HE was doing, but there would be time. Meanwhile, where was he going to take her?

"So Quinn," he darted in when she paused for breath. "There's this great new place I'd love to take you, but it's the next town over. Do you mind?"

"Well...okay," she playfully jabbed a finger at him. "But you're not going to kill me or anything, are you?"

" 'Scuse me?" he asked, startled.

"Never mind. Nobody dressed like THAT could get away with murder. Let's go!"

He forced a laugh, started the car and pulled out.

"So, like, where did you move here from? You don't look like you grew up in Lawndale."

Was she curious about him? Duane swelled a little. "Is that a bad thing?" they both chuckled. "I grew up, er...down south. A bunch of different places really. We're always moving." He was making this up, but it felt right somehow.

"That's SO interesting," Was she checking her eye makeup in the mirror? "How long are you here?"

He looked over at her and smiled. "A while. I hope."

She returned his gaze, and for a moment it was nice, but then she started talking again. "Well, MY family moved here from Texas a while ago. Ugh! What a fashion disaster area. But Lawndale is SO not any better. Of course the Fashion Club and I try to do our part, but some people are just beyond hope-"

"The Fashion Club?"

She gave him a 'wow, you really ARE new' look. "Like, the most popular girls at Lawndale High? Me, Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany."

"Oh, yeah. Those girls in History?"

"Right! I'm the Vice President." she said, with as little emphasis on 'vice' as possible.

All righty, Duane thought. I can play on her court. "Not the president? Heck, I can't believe that."

She blushed. "Oh, WELL..."

"I mean it. I'm no expert, but anyone can see you're the best-dressed girl in the school."

"Tell that to Sandi," she muttered. "Or my parents. They don't even care about it! Neither does my...um..."

"Sister?"

She winced. "Something like that."

"Strange. Someone who reads the paper all day, you'd think they know more about that stuff."

"TELL me about it."

They talked more about school as they watched the houses go by, and the conversation went smoother. Maybe because she knew he was listening. Most guys at Lawndale didn't care about anything fashion-related, but he could keep up a little better. It was surprising what you had to learn in building and interior design.

So far he seemed to be saying the right things, most of them totally honest. He didn't know where this sudden ability to talk to girls was coming from, but he wasn't complaining. Or maybe it wasn't girls-maybe it was just her.

_Well, one out of 4 billion ain't bad. Especially if it's this one, right?_

They crossed over into the Parkbury city limits, and soon Duane pulled up to a neon blue/fluorescent green building with lights all over the roof, narrow at one end and wide at the other.

Quinn perked up when she saw it. "What's this place?"

"That's the new Something Something Dine-In Theater." he said proudly. "My uncle and I did some of the work on it."

She raised an eyebrow at his pronunciation of 'thee-yater.' "You don't even know the name?"

"That IS the name." he pointed up to the sign. "And I think you're gonna like it."

Ω

The restaurant was subtly lit in shades of blue. A series of hip space-age booths stretched across the floor and along the walls, all facing the wide end of the building where a giant movie screen sat waiting. "NEXT SHOW AT 8:30," a neon sign flashed.

Duane saw the look on Quinn's face and was intrigued. Her eyes lit up for the first time that night. It was the look of someone who loved cool people and places discovering a good deal of both; a calculating eagerness. She liked it here, all right.

"Wow! You and your uncle built this place?" she exclaimed as they chose two seats in the corner.

"Not the outside, but a lot of the interior. These custom designs are really in, and my uncle is good at stuff like that, so..."

Quinn frowned a little, as though a bad memory had resurfaced. "Your uncle? So, um, what's his name?"

"Mike Falco. Falco Builders?" Duane handed her a business card. "He moved up here a few years before us. Neat guy. I've been working for him."

She relaxed. "Oh."

"You wouldn't believe how hard it was to get those wall seats just right. See, it's an indoor mini-theater. They all have to be facing the screen. If you don't put enough thought into it, it's just a mess. But with the right shapes and colors, it all comes together."

"It does, doesn't it?" Quinn said dreamily, sweeping a hand through her hair.

Uh-oh. She was distracted again, more by herself than anything.

The food was good-mostly classic Americana, not fancy but reasonably priced. He had the steak, she had the chicken salad. The atmosphere was pleasant enough, but they drifted into their own worlds. He commented on the construction; she glibly acknowledged him but showed little interest.

Duane was relieved when the lights faded and they started the movie. He didn't have to feel guilty for not saying anything. Quinn was pleasant enough so far, but she had a lot of layers to her personality. He knew he wasn't getting through. Every guy she went out with did pretty much the same things. Even if he pulled them off better than others, maybe that wasn't what she really wanted.

So what does she want?

He thought about it all through the picture, watching the scenes dance across her eyes. There was a person in there, definitely. A thinking person. Thank goodness she wasn't on her phone through the whole thing. But of course most of the people here weren't, either. This was a different time, he reminded himself.

She looked spellbound as the ending approached, but Duane got a surprise when he paid the bill and they walked outside. He was strolling across the lot with his hands in his pockets; the film wasn't what he thought and it had left him a bit unsettled. She was quiet, quiet, and then a sudden outburst of...well, he wasn't inclined to attach the word "bull****" to a girl but it wasn't far off.

"Guh-OD, Derek. Did you see what they were WEARINNNG in that movie? I thought I was going to faint. And who still listens to records? And that one girl-why was she so weird?! She just couldn't fit in with anyone, 'cause then she wouldn't be different. Like being different makes you special or something. Did Brooke's nose make her special?! I don't think soooo!"

Was she ever going to get his name right? "Quinn-"

"And people think I'm shallow. Gawd, don't even get me started on that."

"I won't, I promise. Quinn, maybe-"

"OHHH-kay, if you just have to know about it. Here's what happened. One day Brooke just waltzed in with, like, this brand new nose? And it was like, the grossest thing ever. I mean it! I thought it was gross, even though it was cute. It was like she was TOO cute. But I thought, if being TOO cute becomes the NEW cute, does that mean everybody will be hot except me? And of course Daria didn't get it at ALL. But then her nose just kind of collapsed-Brooke's, not Daria's-like Daria needs THAT on top of everything else. So then I wasn't-"

Most guys would just grit their teeth and put up with this 'till they got her home. Duane, figuring his chances were shot anyway, went for complete honesty. "QUINN. I'm sorry, but I really don't need to know about this. Do you talk to everybody the way you talk to your friends? Just fashion, gossip, fashion, gossip all the time?"

She stared at him in shock as they turned out of the parking lot. Clearly, not many guys talked to her like this.

"I mean, I won't judge you if that stuff is the love of your life, but a fella can't compete with that, know what I mean? And my name is Duane."

"That's what I said!"

"You ain't said it right one time."

She crossed her arms and stared out the window.

"I mean, I like you and all. But...you just don't know how to talk to a guy, do you?"

Quinn was goaded too far. "Yes I do! I'm popular! EVERY guy wants to go out with me!"

He sighed. "How many second dates have you had?"

"A lot! How many FIRST dates have YOU had?"

He paused.

"Well?"

"Maybe I don't remember, you...aw, hell with it." Duane bit his tongue and let an ominous silence descend over them.

He felt hurt inside. For a little while there, he had enjoyed himself, felt natural in his own skin for the first time. He should have known it was too good to last. If this what he'd admired so much from afar...maybe he was better off keeping his distance.

There were no more words on the ride back. She didn't have to say 'take me home,' he knew what was what. When they drove up to the Morgendorffers' he croaked a "good night," trying to be a gentleman in spite of everything. She nodded without looking at him and stepped out. She stood facing the house (mansion) uncertainly, like a stranger seeking shelter.

He shook his head sadly and shifted into drive, pulling back onto the street.

"Duane?"

He hit the brake. Now that was unexpected.

Before he could object, she ran up and hopped back into the car. "Drive me somewhere."

"I think we're about finished here, don't you?"

"You have to!"

"I don't think so. 'Specially not for a girl who won't even say please."

Seconds passed.

"Please." It was so quiet he barely heard it. "I just need to...um, talk."

Duane paused. This night had not gone the way he hoped, but he wasn't ready to give up. Hell, he couldn't. He wasn't about to grovel, but...what else did he have in this town but her? And if she was ready to shoot straight with him...

He dredged his conscience for one more chance.

"...All right. But no more of the act. Agreed?"

Quinn nodded slowly. For the first time, she met his gaze and held it.

The Cruiser rolled on, and they disappeared into the night.


	3. Then We Really Started Talkin'

Part III: Then We Really Started Talkin'

Ω

Duane didn't remember how long they drove, but it was a while. Houses turned to fields and streets turned to highways as they left the Baltimore suburbs behind.

Other guys at school tried to warn him-don't get attached, don't bother, she'll shoot you down. She just wants popularity and a ride in a nice car before she throws you on the pile. Maybe he should have listened. But oddly enough, Duane wasn't popular. He barely knew anybody, joined no clubs and just did his best to disappear. His attempt to ask Quinn out had been a stammering disaster and she still said yes, albeit after some phone tag...

Yes, the date had been a disappointment. He was no longer impressed by the great and powerful Quinn, he wanted the girl behind the curtain. The glimpses he'd caught of that girl-the one who got him through every day without even saying hi, who turned around and got back in the car tonight instead of going home-those meant everything.

So he drove.

Finally she said, "this is good," and he stopped the car on the shoulder. He turned off the engine, and for a while they listened to crickets chirping in the weeds.

"Duane?"

"Hmm?"

Quinn swallowed hard. "Um, about that girl. In the movie."

He frowned. "Yeah?"

"I don't get it," Quinn whispered shakily. The drama queen was gone. "Why did she get on the bus? She had everything. Like, a best friend, a place to live, a guy who liked her-even if he was, like, WAY too stuffy and unpopular for her. Why would she leave all that behind and just...disappear?"

He heard a hiccup and looked over at her. There was a tear on her cheek.

Duane was awestruck. The relentlessly cheerful, blissfully ignorant Quinn Morgendorffer was crying.

It took him a long moment to find the right words. "Well...it seems like that's up to us to decide."

"What do you think?"

First time she's asked me THAT. "I think it's because...some people just ain't made for this world. They don't feel like they belong anywhere. They're just drifting."

She looked at him. "You mean like you?"

"We're talkin' about the movie, Quinn," he said coldly, surprising himself.

She drew back from him as if she'd been struck. Damn it.

"...Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that. You just startled me, that's all."

"Is it true?"

"Maybe," he said noncommittally. Her eyes tortured him. "Oh, hell. Yeah. Are you kiddin'? I've felt like that ever since I moved here. You want to know the really crazy part? I don't even remember where I lived before this! The South? I don't know, it could been Antartica! I don't remember anything about my family-if they even ARE my family!" Now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. It was like a dam had burst inside of him. "Even my NAME! That's how much I don't belong here!"

Quinn said nothing. He looked up at her. "I feel like I'm an alien experiment or something. You know what helped me keep it together? You." She gawked at him. "Yeah. I wake up with a house and a family I don't remember from a month ago, and I keep myself together and go to school because I know you're gonna be there. Because at least while you're there, I'm just a guy crushing on a girl, you know? Cause at least that...that's normal. The rest of the day...I don't even know what I'm doing...if..." Duane finally trailed off.

Silence. He looked away and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

"The girl in the movie-she left because she didn't have anything to stick around for. That's what this date meant to me. What it meant to you, I don't know."

She cringed a little, squeezing her hands together.

"But there you go. If it wasn't for you, I'd be right on that bus with her."

Quinn sniffed. "Maybe you two would get along."

He snorted. "What about you, Quinn? What's your story?"

"Oh Duane. Let's talk more about you," she said. He looked up tiredly, expecting more B.S., but her eyes told him otherwise. "I mean...you really do build stuff, right?" He shrugged. "And you do play football, right? Your family-or whoever they are-at least you get along with them, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. So?"

"So you're good at something. Not like me. This popular stuff...that's like, ALL I can do, you know? I can't get A's. I can't dance. I can't sing," Her fingernails dug into the seat. "I don't even like eating. Tiffany told me she's been...like, making herself throw up? I've done that a few times. It was so gross, though..."

"Jesus, Quinn..."

She was shaking. "My parents don't listen. My sister doesn't care. My best friend wishes I was dead. I just feel like everybody h-hates me."

"Come here," he whispered, pulling her close to him. She stiffened for a moment, then melted and buried her face in his shoulder. They stayed like that for a time, as a train whistle blew in the distance and the smell of smoke drifted over the fields.

Ω

The stars were out. They seemed to go on forever. Duane liked it. It made their problems seem smaller, somehow. Easier to deal with.

"I don't hate you, Quinn."

She smiled and breathed out slowly. "Thanks."

"Look, I know you're, like...afraid to show people the real you and all...but is it really as bad as all this? What if you came home tonight and told Daria you love her? Would that be the end of the world?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "No. She'll just say 'all right, what do you want? And the answer is no.' I don't blame her either."

"Then hug her. I don't think she could defend against THAT."

"Heh...yeah."

"I mean, maybe you'd get along better with them if you just...um..."

Don't talk down to her, he reminded himself. You're not her dad. Although he should probably know about some of this... Duane thought back on how the man had behaved over SQUIRRELS. Nah, maybe not. But somebody.

With a minor jolt, he realized he WAS that somebody. Probably the only somebody in the world.

If ever he needed a reason to stay here...that was it.

"What were you going to say?" she asked.

"I dunno," he said lamely. "You know...just try."

Quinn giggled and wiped her eyes. "I can't promise I'll try. But I'll TRY to try."

"You gotta start somewhere."

The rest of their conversation passed naturally, like it was meant to be. When the time felt right, he started up the car and drove her back home again.

They walked up to the door side by side. Quinn stopped, took off her necklace and handed it to him. "Here. Keep this."

"Thanks. Um...nice shade of purple," he commented inanely.

"It's fuschia rose."

"Oh. Well, I'm gonna call it purple anyway just to tick you off. That okay with you?"

She tried not to smile and failed. "Yes."

Quinn leaned in and kissed him. Just on the cheek, and it only lasted a moment. But it spoke volumes.

"So. Does that mean it's all right if this crazy hick from another planet asks for a second date with you?"

She pretended to think about it. "Hmmmm...OH-kay. I'll try not to babble and cry the whole time. But we have got to work on your outfit. A denim jacket AND jeans?!"

"I place myself in your capable hands, darlin'." he grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.

"EEE-yewwww."

She waved and went inside. Duane walked slowly back to his car and sat there for a while before leaving. It happened. He saw the real Quinn, and she needed someone as bad as he did. His troubling memories were fading now; soon they might be gone altogether. He found that he didn't miss them.

Through a pair of glasses and an upstairs window, someone studied him curiously.


	4. Don't Ask Me How This Stuff Works

_A/N: Wow. I think this is the most personal story I've ever written. It's not quite over yet, either._

_The movie is 2001's 'Ghost World,' starring Thora Birch and Scarlett Johansen, which I don't own. The 'I'll try to try' quote is from Bart on The Simpsons; same deal there._

Part IV: Don't Ask Me How This Stuff Works

Ω

It was another morning in Lawndale-and for the first time, it was a good one for Duane Mason.

He didn't think his mother looked strange when she knocked on the door to check if he was awake. He didn't stare at his father over the cereal and wonder if he was really his dad.

He DID walk into Lawndale High and wonder if it was a bad dream. But, so did most of the students here.

"Mornin' Jodie," he waved to the Student Council President. "Sick of your life yet?"

"Only about ten years ago," she smirked. "Hi, Duane."

"Kevin! How ya doin'? Are your new pads in the mail yet?" he called to the quarterback.

"Um...no?"

"Well, it smells that way from here. Ha ha!" Duane continued down the hall to where Jane Lane was staring with surprise and mild amusement.

"The Lonely Ranger, talking to us? To what do we owe the honor?"

He winked. "With girls like you around? The honor is mine. See you, Jane." She made a sound that could have been a chuckle as he passed on. Being distracted by his excellent mood, Duane failed to realize that wherever Jane was, there must also be...

Daria. There she was blocking his path, her face as glum and suspicious as ever.

He forced the smile to remain on his face. "Um...morning, Daria. How's-"

"Duane," she said warily. "By any chance, was my sister's body taken over by a pod person last night?"

"Yup," he grinned without missing a beat. "Soon we'll take over the whole city. Resistance is futile."

She stared him down for what felt like an eternity, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. "That's what I was afraid of. Um...I will deny this under questioning, but you may tell this pod person I said she's not such a bad kid. See you."

She didn't change expression, but her steps seemed lighter as she walked away.

Duane didn't expect to learn much here today, and as usual the morning classes met his low expectations. But he walked into History with a spring in his step.

"Why, Mistah MASON. Does my good EYE deceive me, or are you actually looking forward to LEARNING SOMETHING in my class?" Mr. DeMartino vibrated.

"That depends. Are you ready for all your questions to be answered correctly for a change?" he replied. "Just one suggestion: don't call on Kevin."

An uppity, oddly accented voice spoke up behind him. "Gee, STACY. Is your inappropriate enthusiasm now rubbing off on innocent students?"

Stacy just laughed. "Oh, no way, Sandi! It must be _your_ good mood!"

"Oh. Um...thank you."

Things were going to be a little better now, Duane thought. He could swear to it. His one reason for staying here had begotten many. Instead of looking back he had something to look forward to, now and every day-and he hoped that Quinn would, too.

He sat down at his desk and waited for the door to open.

THE END

_I don't do this stuff just for kicks. Yeah, it IS fun, and a few of my stories are pure comedy. But with most of them, I'm throwing a little piece of myself out there, and hoping someone cares. Walt Whitman once wrote this poem called 'A Noiseless Patient Spider,' where this spider was just endlessly spinning threads and casting them out into space, waiting for one of them to catch somewhere. He compared the spider to his own soul; feeling alone, trying all his life to connect with somebody. Something. And that's exactly how I feel. Every one of my stories is a thread, a part of me. I try to touch people with my writing because I'm afraid to do it in person. I'm 27 years old, but I still have a lot of uncertainty about myself because I'm afraid to find out what the real answers are. At the end of the day, there are few things about me that I'm sure of. But I like 'Daria', and I love Quinn Morgendorffer._


End file.
